


Fade Away

by TehLotteh



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And people still hate Mages, Anders still belongs with them in his mind, Anxiety, Character Death, Darkspawn, Established Relationship, Grey Wardens, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Magic is still a thing, Modern Thedas, The Blight (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4682066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehLotteh/pseuds/TehLotteh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke has never been happier than he is with Anders in his life, and as far as he's concerned, nothing will tear them apart. Circumstances disagree, and when an incident results with his love missing, their friends start to lose hope. They insist he's in denial, that they're there to help him get through this.</p><p>But they don't see what he sees. They don't know Anders like he does.</p><p>The signs are all there. He just has to follow them before the trail grows cold. He knows they have a happily ever after waiting for them, but he just needs to seize it.</p><p>[Modern AU - Thedas with magic and Mages and the Chantry still hates them all.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flattery Will Get You Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warning, POV may be a little inconsistent. I sort of write from whoever feels most comfortable at the time, though the majority of this will be from Hawke's POV.
> 
> Translations at the end, but never integral to the story - just for flavour (because Anders who speaks Ander is my perfect cup of tea).

Anders woke warm and comfortable in his bed, save for a numb arm where Hawke had crushed it in his sleep, deciding that his pillows weren't enough. He could feel the comforting weight of Hawke's leg entwined with his own, the other man's arm wrapped protectively around him and cradling his face against his chest. Three years.. He still found it hard to believe, sometimes, (actually, most days), that he had not only fallen in with the gorgeous, charming Garrett Hawke, but that he had fallen for him, and the feeling had been mutual. It had been the talk of the town for some time after they had first gotten together, and Anders had certainly underestimated what it meant to be the sole object of affection in the eyes of Kirkwall's most eligible bachelor.

Who didn't know the name of Garrett Hawke, oldest son and heir to the wealthy Amell Lawyer firm? Not that he was trained in the art himself, but he still had a silver tongue and quick wit. Mostly he just handled finances and public appearances, dabbled savings here and there, donated almost all of his income to charity, and what didn't go there went into his siblings' university funds. He had an extremely strong moral compass, and gave himself selflessly.

It was how they'd first met, after all. There had been a fire in Lowtown, at one of the orphanages. Anders had been on call and was quick to the scene, and had soon been busy checking over all the evacuated children, treating mild burns and getting those who needed more medical attention sent to the hospital where he worked. And then, there had been Hawke.

The great lump of a man who walked out of a burning building with a child over each shoulder. The man who had the sheepish expression of a kicked puppy at the realisation that half of his beard had been burned off.

He had insisted on helping Anders take all the children to wherever they were needed, and even paid for rooms for them all to be situated in until the orphanage was repaired. Official records stated that the cause of the fire had never been found, but Anders knew better. He had been the one to whisk said cause away, after all.

He shuffled a little in bed, resting his left arm palm up on Hawke's chest, and studied the brand on his inner wrist. Such a plain little symbol, the circle that split slightly at the bottom and tapered out into points. It was a little misshapen now, having distorted as his skin grew with age, but he could still remember the searing pain the day it was pressed to his wrist, hot iron burning through flesh. A reminder to the world that he was Gifted, a condemnation, a sin in the eyes of the Maker. A Mage, although the term was used more as a slur in recent times. And he would be damned if he had let that poor child be put through the same fate. It was helpful having friends he could quietly ship children off to, Mage friends who worked farms and who were always willing to take in others of their kind, teach them to hide their talents, yet also offer them an environment where they needn't be afraid to be who they were.

And he had been offered that lifestyle, too. Maybe one day, many years ago, he would have taken it too. He had escaped the Circle, and fate through him straight into the arms of the Grey Wardens. He had been happy there, for a time, until circumstances forced his hand and his Commander had all but ordered him to take leave of absence. Even now, he was registered as formally on leave, and he knew that that was all that would protect him should officials come knocking on his door to chase up any claims of his magical prowess. Gifted Grey Wardens were tolerated because of the work they did, but that same leash didn't extend to ones removed from active service.

He felt his vision come back into focus at the gentle caress of a finger down his jaw, and he glanced up to see Hawke watching him, a lazy smile on his face and his eyes still half-asleep. He smiled in turn and nuzzled against his hand as Hawke moved to splay his fingers against him, cupping his cheek in the palm of his hand, and Anders could feel the man's chest rumble in a silent chuckle. “You should still be asleep, babe. You have a day off – enjoy it.”

“I am enjoying it,” Anders insisted, leaning forward to touch his nose to the other man's. Maker knew he was a sop, a hopeless romantic, but when it was just the two of them he didn't care. “What could be better than lying in the arms of the man I love?”

Another silent chuckle, and the man's fingers trailed slowly down his throat and collar, tracing the trail of hair and veins down his arm before coming to play on his wrist, drawing small patterns over the brand, feeling the roughness of scarred skin against his fingertips. “You were staring at it again.” Despite the easy smile on his expression, Anders could hear the concern in his voice. They knew each other too well to be able to hide such nuances from each other.

“I was contemplating getting a tattoo over it. A couple of lines here, a dot there.. _Los ghet's_ , a cat! A bit of a stylised, overweight cat, but a cat nonetheless.” He felt the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile that he wished were a bit stronger, but Hawke just took his arm and raised it to his lips, placing a languid kiss against the brand, lyrium-blue eyes watching him steadily.

“You know I love it when you speak Ander.” Lips continued, teeth playfully tugging against the skin of his wrist before a tongue flicked out to soothe the freshly-irritated flesh. He gave a light tug at his elbow, pulling Anders to lie back over him properly as his other arm trailed down his back, following the contours of a body he had come to know so well. He wasn't long lavishing attention on his blonde partner, his lover, his every gesture intended to demonstrate just how much he cared for him, and he clearly had no intention of letting him leave that bed anytime soon.

Well, as Anders argued, Hawke couldn't say he wasn't enjoying his day off now.

 

 

It was sometime around noon when he finally allowed him to leave, Hawke lounging in bed for some time more as he listened to Anders humming to himself from the hallway. It was no small blessing having him in his life, and there was not one day he took it for granted. After losing his father, it had taken him a long time to come to terms with the oblivion of loss. One day, someone you cared about so deeply was there, with you. The next.. Gone. It was so sudden, so quick. He supposed that he should be grateful that his father had not suffered for months upon months, but still, it was hard. He remembered stepping into his father's old study the day before they left Lothering, willing the scent that he had so often associated with the man – of burnt wood and soft earth – to stay with him forever.

He had felt so alone, borne the weight his mother had placed on him, the duty to care for his family, the blame _that it was all his fault_. He'd thrown himself into offering as much of himself as he could to Kirkwall when they arrived, taken control of the company from his incapable uncle, donated all he could to those worse off than he, spent all his days running errands for those who needed the aid, becoming a volunteer firefighter, dockhand – anything he could think of.

And then, he met the man who gave as much as he. In this selfish city where most all thought only about themselves, he found another man who had bled himself dry to make others happy. Together, they made each other happy. They gave everyone their all, but then, they gave each other that necessary part in turn. Being with Anders, Hawke had felt more complete than ever before.

He eventually roused himself enough to dress, throwing on a pair of trackies and followed the sound of humming to their kitchen. He folded his arms and leaned against the door, watching as his partner cooked them both lunch, hips twitching minutely to the music in his head that occasionally leaked out in his humming. Ser Pounce-a-Lot was curled up on the windowsill in the dining room next to them, and Barkspawn was sprawled on the sofa on his back, leg quivering in his sleep, and every now and then a low bark came from his throat as he no doubt chased rabbits in his dreams.

Hawke stood there for a short time, enjoying the view of the freedom in his lover's posture, taking pleasure in such a simple task as frying eggs. He knew that for most of his early life Anders had been denied almost everything, although aside from knowing he was locked away in one of the Circle strongholds, he hadn't managed to pry much else from the man. His father had been the same, refusing to discuss the Circle in this very city where he had been raised. On more than one occasion Garrett had been grateful not to have inherited the magic that ran thick through the Hawke blood, and it had only served to make him more protective over Bethany. He wouldn't let her go through what their father and Anders had.

“Something the matter, love?” He glanced up to see Anders' eyes on him, head tilted with a light curiosity, and Hawke shook himself out before stepping over to him. Strong arms soon wrapped around the thinner man's waist as Hawke rested his head on his shoulder, the two being of too similar heights for him to comfortably use the top of his head.

“Just thinking how beautiful you look,” he grinned, turning to nuzzle against his neck as a hand trailed playfully lower. “And how my appetite really wasn't satisfied before..” He felt the back of his hand receive a light-hearted whack at that and laughed lowly, squeezing his arms a little tighter as he held him closer, allowing him to continue on with the cooking.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Then beg, I don't care.” Hawke whined softly at that, pawing Anders a moment before the other man laughed, shoving him off so he could dish up their plates for them.

“'Move in with me, Anders, let me take care of you, Anders'. All this and I'm living with a slobbering mutt-”

“Shh, don't listen Barksp-”

“And a noble Mabari.”

“Ooooh.” Hawke growled playfully as Anders wiggled an eyebrow, and took the offered plates before settling them down at the table. As Anders wormed into his seat, Hawke leaned over and grabbed the tv remote, flicking the news on as was customary. He always liked to be in the know with current affairs, mostly so that if there were any issues that he could help with, he knew where to throw his weight around.

The two ate in companionable silence through a series of adverts, and Anders turned his back to the screen to fuss over Ser Pounce-a-Lot when the standard public service announcement came on from the Templar Knight-Commander of the city region, Meredith Stannard.

“..They are dangerous people. Any Mage seen without a sanctioned Circle tag is an apostate, and should be reported immediately. This is not only for your safety – it is for theirs as well. All Mages must be formally registered-”

“That woman pisses me off, sometimes,” Anders snarled under his breath, fingers buried deep in his cat's fur. Hawke knew no words would soothe him, and reached under the table to apologetically nudge his foot. He hadn't known that would be showing now, and if he turned it off Anders would only get more agitated about Hawke feeling the need to coddle him. It just wasn't worth it.

“Only sometimes?”

“I'm not thinking about her when we're having sex, you know.”

“You aren't? Well, jeez, this is awkward.” Hawke rubbed the back of his neck in mock embarrassment as Anders sighed in exasperation. As the announcement finished the two dutifully sang the ending jingle, eyes meeting in their shared joke as they attempted to out-dramatise each other.

_Blessed are the Peacekeepers, Champions of the Just._

Really, life was too short without a bit of fun.

Finally, the news started, and there wasn't anything new. Hawke frowned as he placed his cutlery down, leaning forward and nodding his head to the screen where footage of the Grey Warden plight was being shown.

“Are they still going on with all this? Blight this, Blight that. The Blight was ended years ago.”

“There's always Darkspawn, love. The ones that remained after this Blight were..” He shuddered, eyes unfocused. “Different.”

“I'm glad you're not there. I don't want you to be put through that again. And anyway,” Hawke stood, gathering their plates, and paused by Anders to kiss his cheek. “Who would warm my bed if you were gone? What if we'd never met?”

“You'd still be cuddling up to Barkspawn every night, we both know that.” Anders flashed him a fond smile as Hawke dumped their dishes, and stepped back to the table before pulling him in to one last kiss.

“You're sure you're okay if I go and visit Varric? I don't think whatever he wanted to discuss with me can wait much longer.”

Anders laughed, flapping an arm at him as Ser Pounce curled up in his lap, tail twitching softly. “Go on, my Champion, go do what you must. Just make sure you come back to me.”

Hawke offered him a flourishing bow at that, eyes dancing, and earned himself a snort from his partner. At his insistence he finally got dressed and left, leaving Anders to mull over his medical research or whatever doctory things he had planned.

It was only when he fastened his seatbelt and pulled his car into reverse that Hawke realised his palms were sweating. Maker, but this was really it. He just hoped Varric had everything sorted.

 


	2. I didn't hear a no...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I posted the first chapter and got hit by a bolt of inspiration.. Not proof-read yet, I'll probably do that in the morning, but I thought I was as well to stick it up now.

 “Andraste's tits, Hawke, stop shaking. You're making the beer bottles nervous.” Varric clambered up onto his usual bar stool at their preferred table in the corner, right next to a decorative display of various bottles of alcohol through the decades, one for each type that had ever been sold in the well-established Hanged Man. Garrett only realised then that he'd been bouncing his leg uncontrollably against the footrest of his stool, and glanced up guiltily to the display of bottles. He immediately felt foolish for thinking that the bottles might care, and dropped his gaze again as he cradled his pint in his hands.

“Am I rushing into this?” He looked to his closest friend with round eyes, and Varric could have sworn the man had spent too much time around his dog. Like pet, like owner.. Next thing he knew his head would be at an angle and he'd be whining quietly.

“When do you not rush into things? Actually, isn't the fact that you're asking yourself if you're rushing actually a sign that, for once in your life, you're not?”

“It's only been three years.”

“Officially it's only been three years, but you were friends before that.”

“Hardly..” Hawke grumbled, shoulders slumping as he stared at the murky reflection of his face back in the glass. He could keep his cool at home, around Anders, mostly because he knew if he didn't he'd be questioned. Persistently. He didn't think he had the will to claim ignorance against such an onslaught. “We sort of skipped most of the friendship period-”

“You both fell hard and fast, yes. I remember Isabela commenting on it, and I imagine you do too. Well, we all did, to be honest.” Varric leaned him arm on the table, glancing out around the bar. It was fairly empty for a lunchtime, and the dark-wood style of the place really stood out and made it feel more homely. When it was packed to bursting, like most evenings, the darker colourings made the place feel too enclosed, too locked up. For now, at least, the lights around the walls lit up the wood in a warming glow, and Varric couldn't help but snuggle a little against the wall, reaching up to run his hand over the rough stubble on his jaw.

“Are we still on our honeymoon phase? What if it runs out?”

It seemed Hawke was still having doubts. Maker, but the man was usually so self-assured, and his lack of confidence now only irritated Varric in the sense that he just didn't know how to help him.

“If the honeymoon phase has lasted this long, I really don't think it'll run out anytime soon. You're not bored of him, are you?”

A violent head shake responded him.

“And has he seemed any less receptive than usual to you?”

Again, he responded in the same fashion.

Varric grinned easily, crossing his ankles and resting them against the metal rung of his stool. “So don't sweat it. Blondie's a romantic sod, I hardly think any extra attention from you scare him off.”

“It's not just that, Varric..” Hawke frowned, eyes still troubled as he finally lifted his gaze to look at his much shorter friend. “It just.. It's a bit final, isn't it? What if he still hasn't found closure regarding Karl?”

Karl Thekla.. Varric knew the name well, despite never having the pleasure of meeting the man. Anders had come to the bar one night and sat with just he and Hawke, and gotten very drunk for him. The story came out in dribbles at first, just saying that it was the anniversary of a dear friend's death, and after a few more glasses, he broke. He ended up slumped against Hawke (and considering that this was before the two had become and item, Varric had certainly taken notice of how the bigger man's eyes widened in alarm before very awkwardly wrapping an arm around him as Blondie's nose and eyes streamed all down his shirt) before explaining that it wasn't just a friend, but he old fiancé.

The two had actually met in Kinloch Hold, the Circle holding in Ferelden for the Gifted. Anders had been as rebellious as possible, giving the Templars who guarded them as much grief as he could short of physical abuse, while Karl had been the perfect acolyte – silent, studious, barely raising his gaze to anyone and barely seen as more than just a decoration on the wall.

Anders had explained through sobs that he had hated the man at first – how could anyone deal with being locked away like this just because of how they were born? He was young and easily-influenced – a fifteen-year old boy with an authority-issue. The Maker made him this way, and nobody had the right to say otherwise. Slavery had been abolished centuries passed – how was this any different?

But then, he explained, he had come to realise that Karl didn't just accept the yolk around his neck – in his own way, his own pacifistic way, he was roughing up a rebellion of his own. A small group working through the nitty-gritty details of law and paperwork to be able to demand their own rights. He confessed that, as a very impulsive man himself who spoke first, acted first, then considered the repercussions a day later, he'd been drawn in by the level-headed senior student, and it had all just rolled on from there.

He'd been very evasive about Karl's death itself, except that it had occurred shortly after he was granted leave from the Grey Wardens, just after he had arrived in Kirkwall. Varric wasn't sure if even Hawke knew all the details, but Anders had insisted it was “a tragic incident” that he didn't feel comfortable talking about.

Varric sighed and took a long swig of his drink, watching Hawke regarding him nervously out of the corner of his eye as he did so. The man needed to calm down, think for a moment, and Varric was hoping the few moments of waiting for a response might help.

“Look, Hawke, I'm going to say this once and once only. For all this flirtatious past that Isabela likes to bring up, Blondie is a one-man guy, and if his heart was still firmly with Karl, I doubt he'd have stayed with you as long as he has. Fuck-a-Nug, Hawke, he fawns over you whenever you're here together. Still. When you're off on business, it's like talking to a lovestruck teenager. If you doubt that he's fully committed to your relationship, then I think you should address your trust issues before going through with this.”

Hawke didn't speak for some time, gaze dropping back to his drink, although the dwarf was pleased to see that he no longer looked quite so on edge. Instead he seemed pensive, contemplating the writer's words.

Did he trust Anders? Completely. Was there any doubt in their devotion to each other? Not at all. Hawke sighed heavily and raised his drink, downing it in one go before placing the glass back on its mat, and instinctively reached out to straighten it in alignment with the table.

“You're right, Varric, as always.” He smiled a little easier, colour coming back to his features as he leaned forward, resting his forearms against the hard wood and linking his fingers together in front of him. “So, uh.. You do have it, right?”

“Aha, I thought you'd never ask. Prepare yourself for this beauty – she's a right looker.”

Hawke shifted in his stool in excitement as Varric dug into his pocket and pulled out a small and sleek black box. He placed it on the table and slid it across with one stubby finger, Hawke's hand hovering over it a moment in anticipation.

He'd been quite direct in his requests, wanting this to be perfect, and Varric had promised him he knew just who could do the job. He noted the neat silver filigree in the top right corner of the box with the initials _FF_ , which he could only assume meant that Varric had gone to _the_ Feddic &Feddic jewellers. He shivered, knowing their reputation well enough – indeed, most of his mother's jewellery had come from there, and she always sang their praises.

Bethany, too, claimed that they held a certain charm – for her first birthday within Kirkwall they had banded together and gotten her a matching set of earrings and necklace, and she commented that they sang. Neither he nor Carver had noticed anything, but then, when she and Anders had been in company while she was wearing them, he mentioned a warm oddity to them in turn.

It had been a simple matter to deduce that there was lyrium woven into the metal (and he had no idea how in Thedas that was possible), and had briefly mentioned to Varric that perhaps something like that could be quite nice, if at all a possibility.

He drew a deep breath before using the pad of his thumb to delicately open the box, and lost it all in a gush of air. It was _perfect_. Aurum, the small tag helpfully mentioned, with engraved writing in Ander scrawling around the outside- Maker's breath, was that really filled in with specks of emerald? _Ich liebe dich, Liebling_ studded with tiny green flecks, and oh sweet Andraste Hawke thought he might kiss Varric there and then. It was perfect, more than perfect – it was divine.

The writing had been very important to him. Hawke took to languages like a mabari to flying, and had barely managed to retain anything Anders had taught him. How the man had learnt Common as his second language, Hawke had no idea, but often in their post-coital cuddling, he would hear those four little words, and knew what weight they carried for Anders. He just hoped that they would carry as much weight given back to him. And the emerald – Anders' favourite gemstone, favourite colour.. Not to mention that the Gifted had an affinity for precious stones. Bethany had tried explaining it once – something about their capacity to hold magic, many complicated things that he didn't understand and doubted he ever would.

“Varric..” He breathed out again, voice quiet, and just leaned over the table to pull his friend into a rough hug. “It's more than I could have hoped for. Thank you so much.”

“Aww, come now,” Varric laughed lightly, clapping him on the back before pulling back. “Nothing's too hard for my friends. You going to ask him tonight do you think?”

Hawke paused, head tilted a moment in thought. All he'd been waiting for really was the ring, and then when Varric had sent him a message saying it was ready for collection, the gravity of the situation had fallen on him.

Now, though, after having that talk with him.. Perhaps he would head home, order them in pizza and a movie. Curl up on the sofa, cuddled up under the blanket. No doubt Ser Pounce would come and join them, balling himself up in the gap between their legs, Barkspawn stretched out on the floor below them as they watched whatever film had caught Anders' fancy this time. Knowing him, it would probably be a Rom-Com, and at some cheesy moment (Anders always turned to grin at him whenever the fateful kiss happened, or someone gushed out an extravagant love poem), it could be Hawke's turn to do something to remember. Maker willing he wouldn't trip over his tongue or accidentally elbow Anders in the face..

“I think I will. Now that I have it.. I don't want to wait, you know?”

“I get you. Well,” Varric stretched and hopped down from his stool, offering Hawke an impish smirk as the other man stood as well, their height differences suddenly very much visible. “I'm going to head back to mine. It's card night, don't forget – if you don't turn up, I'm going to assume it's good news. I'll just tell them you rang me to say Barkspawn was sick or something – they'll just assume you two are off rutting somewhere anyway.”

Hawke blushed lightly and quickly, but tucked the ring and box safely inside his inner jacket pocket anyway before patting his jeans pocket to check he still had his wallet and keys. “You know us too well, don't you?”

“Hey, what happens in your house stays in your house. It just happened once or twice in mine too-”

“We were drunk and, well.. Uh.. Isabela didn't mind?”

“Isabela wanted to join in.” Varric chuckled lowly and clapped his friend's arm once more, making their way to the exit together. “Just, if you do ask him tonight, remember this: stay calm, trust your gut. With all the alcohol you throw down there, it's still working pretty well.”

Hawke grinned and patted his stomach once, but nodded. “I will. And Varric, again.. Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“Every knight in shining armour needs his sword. Now go on – you don't want to keep your damsel waiting.”

 

 

Anders wasn't technically a damsel in distress, or even a damsel really, but Hawke did indeed hurry home. His heart was thudding high in his chest, stomach turning with nervous excitement. Tonight, they'd make it official. Anders would say yes, of course he would. On what grounds would he say no? He didn't always have the best self-esteem and tended to require a lot of reassurance on Hawke's part, but recently he'd been in a brilliant mood. Varric was right – three years and the buzz had never died, not even once. They barely argued, and when they did it was over mundane things like finding cat hair in the coffee cup. They respected their differences and their opinions, as rare as it was that they didn't coincide, and Hawke couldn't think of a time when he had been happier.

He pulled his car up on the drive and briskly made his way to the front door, slipping the key in and turning. He was a little surprised to find it unlocked, but that probably just meant that Anders had let Barkspawn out and forgotten to lock it when he let him back in.

Shrugging, he stepped in and shut it behind him, habitually flicking the latch as he wiped his shoes on the mat. “Hey, babe,” he called out, stepping into the hall and heading to the living room. “I'm home-”

As he pushed open the door, he was met with a sight he hadn't anticipated. Anders was sat on the armchair with his back to him, head buried miserably in his hands, whole posture slumped forwards with his elbows digging into his thighs. Another man was stood at the window, his back to the two of them as well, hands clasped behind him. He stood with a military stance, and Hawke couldn't help but feel wary as he came to stand beside Anders, resting a firm hand on his shoulder. The only response he got was a shudder, and that wasn't exactly reassuring.

“May I ask what the Void is going on?” He didn't mean for his voice to come out so harshly, but he was scared and confused. Barkspawn was sat by the sofa, watching it all silently, and that he wasn't frothing and attacking the newcomer meant he wasn't a threat – someone Anders knew, since Hawke certainly didn't.

Anders silently reached up and took his hand, squeezing tightly, and Hawke turned his hand to link their fingers in reflex. He was really starting to worry now, and it was the stranger who turned before Anders uncurled, and he began to recognise the features from some of Anders' old files. Scraggly black hair on his chin, sallow features and scraped back dark hair.. And that nose. Nathaniel Howe, wasn't it? Now that he was facing him, he could see his uniform clearer too. A navy suit with silver trime, the crest of a gryphon rearing proudly from his left breast.

_Maker no.._

“Serrah Hawke, I presume. Please.. Sit. We have a lot to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ich liebe dich, Liebling - I love you, beloved

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Los ghet's - there you go/voilà.


End file.
